


UnDetermined

by staringatstars



Series: Twintale [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Nonbinary Frisk, Post Aborted Genocide, Prequel, Suicidal Ideation, True Pacifist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6511474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After exiting the Ruins for the second time, Frisk is determined not to be Determined, anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frisk

The cold gray stone is hard and unforgiving against your shoulder blades, the coarse grain plucking and pulling at your sweater every time you shift. The snow you’re sitting on has soaked through the bottoms of your shorts, chilling you, but soon you won’t feel the cold, and you can wait.

You didn’t know how to be patient before, you were too scared of the monsters with their big teeth and their scales and their claws to do much more than lash out in a panic. And by the time you realized that not all of them wanted to hurt you, that some of them were just as scared of you as you were of them and didn’t want to fight, you weren’t scared anymore. You were having too much fun. 

It was strange to see the smiling face of the woman whose dust had coated the palms of your hands and grayed your hair once before. She’d greeted you like she’d never met you before, ready to love you and care for you as though you were her own child, but you didn’t deserve that. Not after what you did to her, to everyone.

You had to leave. 

This time when she attacked you, you didn’t fight back. Nor did you try to dodge her fire magic, closing your eyes as the searing heat stripped away at your life, knowing you deserved all of the pain she inflicted on you.

But before the stress on your SOUL could tear it in two, the volley slowed. It stopped. And she let you go. 

The urge to tell her about the terrible things you’ve done welled up inside, but then suddenly you were safe in her healing embrace, wrapped up in her arms as she pressed her muzzle against your cheek, and your throat closed over the words.

Soon, you’d be just another ghost that Toriel would be forced to live with, a regret for her to carry as your face joined the many other faces of lost children she would never see again. Yes, she’d be lonely without you, but at least she’d be alive.

_**"hey, kiddo? you’ll freeze if you stay out here too long.”** _

You blink sluggishly, as though coming out of a daze. That voice… You look up to see the skeleton from the golden hallway, and your heart plummets in your chest. A huge gasp of frigid air burns your lungs, resulting in a racking coughing fit. When it’s finally done, you’re trembling.

There’s a quiet thud as the skeleton plops down next to you, leaning close so the warmth emanating from his clothes tingles your skin. Your brow furrows as your brain tries to make sense of that, but your body no longer cares about such things, and instinctively scoots closer. 

He’s facing forward, probably to keep you from panicing again, as skeletal hand cloaked in blue magic curls around your fingers, soaking through your skin to melt the chill away. _**"not to freak you out or anything, but i’ve been waiting to make my appearance for a while. when were you planning on moving forward?”**_

You shake your head and croak, “Never.” 

He’s quiet a moment as he reaches up to scratch the side of his skull, _**"that so? never’s a long time. sure you don’t want to get a hot meal in you and think this through?”**_

You frown, hugging your knees to your chest. You’ve already made your decision. It’s useless for him to try to change your mind. No matter what happens, you’re never going to hurt anyone, human or monster, ever again. 

_**"this isn’t our first meeting, is it?”**_ He already has everything figure out, you can tell, so you don’t answer, and sure enough, he asks, _ **“what made you decide to reset?”**_ You lightly tap his jacket. _**"yeah? i kinda figured.”**_ A low chuckle rumbles his ribcage as he grins with a blank gaze. _**"even i get the chance to be cool now and then… how many times did I getcha?”**_

“Dunno.” Your voice still feels foreign in your mouth, thin and raspy like the wisp of an autumn breeze. “Lost count. A lot.” 

_**"…do you regret it?”**_ Now that he knows what you’ve done, that he’s sitting next to a murderer, the quiet calm in his voice is throwing you off, but before you can gather up your thoughts and feelings enough to answer, he finds something in you, though you’re not sure what, and relaxes. _**heh. guess that’s kind of a stupid question at this point.”**_

 _ **“well,”**_ he pauses, watching your expression as he weighs his words, **_“my brother’ll be pretty disappointed if you stay here. he’s always wanted to meet a human.”_**

He moves as if to stand, terrifying you in a way that doesn’t make sense – you were more than ready to die alone before he showed up - and stops, settling back down against your side. He tells you he’s going to stay with you until you fall asleep. The magic warming your body dulls down to a subtle, sleepy pulse. Over time, your lids begin to grow heavy, and you slump against him. He shifts to adjust to the weight of your head on his arm, then tentatively wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close as your heartrate slows… 

And then you’re jolting awake to find yourself on a bed with wrinkled sheets in a room you’ve never seen before. As he’ll tell you later, Sans promised to protect you, and since he takes his promises very seriously, he informs you that you’ve been added to the list of possible dangers he’s taken it upon himself to protect you from. 

_**“you’re not dying today, kid. not like that. not on my watch.”** _


	2. The Other Side

All you had to do was let them die.

So why didn’t you?

It’s a question you have plenty of time to ask yourself as you’re carrying the sleeping human home with you.

They’re a lump of damp clothing and mussed hair hiked up on your back. The steady rise and fall of their chest, the light press of their breath against the thin fabric of your hood, lets you know that they’re still alive. 

Naturally, Papyrus is watching the MTT channel in the living room when you trudge through the front door, stumbling across the threshold because you’re not accustomed to the extra weight on your back. “SANS?” 

In less time than it takes to blink, Papyrus is on his feet, standing at his full height as he offers to alleviate the burden by carrying the human himself. There’s a downward curve to his jaw, a bend in his brow that betrays how worried he is about the little shivering bundle of cool flesh and thick blood, but after hearing from their own lips that they murdered your brother, you’d rather Papyrus didn’t touch them. Instead of letting him help, you shrug him off with a grunted, _**“it’s fine, pap. this kid’s not feeling too hot at the moment,”**_ and as though to make your point for you, the human shudders. A quiet whimper issues forth from pale lips, followed by a raw, rasping cough, _**"so i’m gonna go dump them upstairs for a snooze.”**_

“OKAY.” He nods agreeably, then heads towards the kitchen, though the curiosity flitting across his features never quite leaves his expression as his gaze lingers on the tuft of almond brown hair peeking over your shoulder blades. Subconsciously, you shift your grip on the human, lowering them slightly so as to obscure them from view. If Papyrus notices, he doesn't say anything. “SHOULD YOU NEED ME, BROTHER, I SHALL BE IN THE KITCHEN, WORKING ON WHAT IS SURE TO BE A POSITIVELY SCRUMPTIOUS BREAKFAST FOR THREE.”

 _ **"careful not to work yourself to the bone, pap,”**_ you call after him, chuckling at the squawk of indignation that follows.

 

It’s with an exhausted huff that you finally pry the kid off your back and lay them down on your mattress. They’re stiff, all tensed muscles and clenched jaw, so you pick your crumpled ball of bed sheets and wrap them around the human, tucking it under their sides the way you used to with Papyrus.

Your pillow’s on the ground, right where you left it, so you bend down, pick it up, dust it off, and wedge it under the kid’s head. The scent of ketchup and something stronger saturates every inch of the bedding, and the kid wrinkles their runny nose in distaste, swiping and rubbing at it until it glows, a bright splash of red popping against the mottled, sickly gray of their cheeks.

Still, the initial discomfort passes quickly and they settle, clutching the sheets to their chest in tight fists as they nestle against the pillow, their troubled frown easing somewhat as their muscles begin to loosen.

Since their legs are bent at the knee and don’t quite reach the end of the mattress, you plop down on the edge without a fuss. As you wait for the human to rouse, trailing your fingertips idly across the fabric, plucking at the threads, the scent of eggs sizzling on a buttered pan wafts up from downstairs. It smells surprisingly edible, with only the slightest whiff of burn suggesting that stove temperature was a smidge too high, but considering where he’s receiving his cooking lessons from, you’re just grateful that the house hasn’t yet burst into flames. 

It’s already warm enough without the extra heat, leading you to assume that Papyrus cranked up the upstairs heater for the human’s sake. You’ll have to tell him exactly what it is you brought home with you, eventually, but you have a strong inkling that he already knows – knows and doesn’t care. He’s just waiting to hear it from you. 

It’s when he waits and waits for you to address the subject on your terms and you never do, that’s when the problems crop up. Fights between you and your brother are rarely ever serious, usually about something as ridiculous as putting your socks away or locking the front door to keep the dog out, but when they are, and Papyrus is genuinely upset, it’s ironically because you want to keep him happy - happy and safe - for as long as possible, even if it means keeping him in the dark. 

And now you’ve brought a killer into the house. 

They stir as the aroma from downstairs wakes up their stomach, and you go very still, your gaze registering every movement, watching for the telltale bunch of muscles that precedes a lunge. 

Dull, unfocused brown eyes peek out from the sliver of space between their lids, then they’re jolting upright, sheets pulled all the way to their chin as their eyes dart frantically around the room, no doubt wondering how it is that they’re still alive. 

_**“sorry, kiddo.”**_ Your voice comes out a little rough, but there’s no helping it. _**“i guess i changed my mind.”**_

For a moment, the kid looks at you with a wounded expression, like they’d trusted you with the most important thing in the world, and you’d let them down. The expression fades, replaced by one of fear and panic, as their lungs begin to work overtime, sucking in shallow gasps of air in a rapidly increasing pace. At this rate, they’re going to pass right out again.

You latch onto them, the tips of your fingers digging into their shoulder as you squeeze until their wide, frightened doe eyes are locked on you, _**“slow down. take your time. breath through your nose.”**_

Alphys used to recite the periodic table backwards and forwards to calm herself down whenever the panic attacks became too difficult to manage, but you’ve only witnessed it once or twice yourself, and you’re pretty sure that she’s something of a special case, so back to basics it is.

Though they seem a mite skeptical at first, their nostrils widen as they follow your instructions and, gradually, their breathing steadies into something less gassed up sports car, more steam locomotive. 

Then they’re shooting out of the bed, darting towards the door, and your hand swings around to hook under their collar. The unexpected resistance is nearly enough to pull their feet out from under them as they’re tugged backwards, though the results aren't favorable. Even though they know exactly what you can do when you get serious - or perhaps because they know - their efforts to escape only increase in desperation. _**“come on, kid, don't do this. talk to me.”**_

Surprisingly, their mouth works, forming the shapes of words and sentences long before any sound issues from it. They’re still struggling, pulling desperately against your iron grip when you hear a cry. “Too dangerous!” With their struggle diminishing somewhat as it becomes clear that they're not going anywhere, they add in defeat, “Not safe.” And finally, peering apprehensively at you over their shoulder, “ _Why?_ ”

And had you not known what they were, what _they_ could do, what they’d already _done_ , you would’ve had an answer for them, but you do, so instead of answering, you gently unhook your fingers from their striped sweater and say, _**“pap’s making breakfast in the kitchen. stay long enough to have whatever it is he’s cooked up for ya, and i’ll think about letting ya go.”**_

It's not a permanent solution, but it's a start.

 

Turns out, they’re ravenous. 

Waiting downstairs on the living room table were three plates, each loaded up with a whopping slice of mildly burnt spaghetti omelet, and the kid sat down by the table, grabbed the fork, and started shoveling it in, all while Papyrus watched with little happy stars dancing in his eye sockets. Seeing someone consume his cooking with so much enthusiasm has always been a dream of his, and you’re happy for him. Truly.

But it makes your job harder, doesn’t it? You gesture between them. _**“pap, meet the human.”**_ That’s one introduction down. Now for the second, less necessary one.

The human looks up, confused and unsure, their squishy cheeks puffed out like small balloons as they pause mid-chew. _**“human, meet my brother.”**_

And Papyrus jumps on the chance to vigorously pump their entire arm, forcing them to clap a free hand over their mouth in an effort to prevent the cooking Papyrus was so proud of from joining in on the introductions. 

They wince, forcing the omelet down in a hard swallow, then strain the muscles on their face until there’s an upwards curve to their lips. Though its similar enough to give a good indication of what they’re going for, and the shape is definitely right, there’s no feeling behind it, or rather, there’s plenty of feelings, but none of the right ones. 

“DO NOT WORRY, TINY HUMAN.” Papyrus says reassuringly as he pats them on the shoulder, possibly in the hope that some of his own pure, unadulterated joy will be passed on through the contact. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL TEACH YOU ALL ABOUT HOW PROPER SMILES ARE MADE.” 

And he loves fast, with his entire soul, his entire heart, so you know it doesn’t matter that they’re human, or that they haven’t met his gaze once since he walked into the room, preferring to stare at the table, the plate, the wall, the ground, anything but your brother – he already can’t imagine a world without them in it. 

In the end, he decides to drag them outside to play in the snow, leaving you to clear the plates, which you will get to once you’re done deciding what you’re going to do about the kid. And after that? Perhaps a very long nap.

The couch creaks under your weight as you shift, trying to get comfortable. Massaging your brow bone, you contemplate letting the kid stay with you and your brother indefinitely. It’s a feasible, if temporary solution, but you’re not sure how much longer you can calmly house the child that murdered your brother under your roof. Even if it was in a different timeline, even if their hands were clean of dust now, they were hardly innocent. They’d have to live with that stain on their soul for the rest of their life.

“SANS?” Papyrus calls from outside, and a trace of distress catches your attention. “CAN HUMANS FLY?”

_**“don’t think so, bro.”**_ With a bemused frown and a note of something approaching dread in your voice, you reluctantly ask, _**“why?”**_

Getting up, you cross over to the window to see Papyrus staring up at the roof, every inch of him radiating concern. “WELL… IT’S JUST THAT I DON’T THINK THE HUMAN KNOWS THAT.”

You rush outside in time to see Papyrus catch the kid in his arms after they'd launched themselves from the roof. The _roof_. What are you supposed to do with this kid? You’ve already kept them from dying once, which makes their continued survival your responsibility in a way, but you can’t keep an eye on them forever. At some point, they’re going to try something like this again, and when that happens, you and Papyrus may not be around to stop them... 

And what will happen, then? Will they automatically reset? Or will they be replaced by a different human, one who treats the lives of the monsters they meet like they’re all part of a game, one who doesn’t regret, who doesn’t feel remorse.

Right now, there’s a human child shaking in your brother’s arms, filled with so much remorse it’s killing them, and you finally realize why you wanted this kid to live. You thought maybe it was because death was too easy, you needed them to carry their sins, but now you know that’s not the only reason.

Eventually, they calm enough for Papyrus to let them down, though he hovers, staying close in case the kid loses their footing or decides to enact another flying attempt. _**“you’ve killed everyone at least once, right?”**_ , you say once you've convinced Papyrus to give you and the kid some space. They shake their head, frantic, and you can't help but let out a sigh. 

Right, they didn’t get to Asgore. Not if they couldn’t get past you, but the distinction feels trivial. _**“okay, _mostly_ everyone, but it’s obviously eating you up inside, so how about we try something different this time around?”**_ They go very still, then slowly close their eyes, resigned. _**“want to try being a good person?”**_

Maybe they’re beyond saving. Maybe you should have let them die, or killed them the instant they stepped out of the Ruins. Maybe a promise to an old, lonely lady isn’t worth risking the lives of every monster in the Underground, but your brother believes even the worst person can change, and you want to know if he’s right. 

And that small, hopeful light that brightens the kid’s eyes? 

That’s got absolutely nothing to do with it.

 

“Sans! Sans, I did it!”

With Undyne gone, after having her butt thoroughly trounced by a human not half her height, you shake out the stiffness in your bones that pretending to sleep tends to leave you with, then step outside your booth, just in time for the kid to come barreling down the wooden bridge and leap straight into your outstretched arms. 

They giggle as you use their momentum to swing them around, the first honest smile you’ve seen on them spread wide across their face. _**“i knew you had it in you, kiddo.”**_

Undyne hadn’t made it easy to spare her – she never did – but the human had pushed through, and even if, to your perspective, they beat Undyne on the first try, the exhausted set of their shoulders told a different story. 

From then on, the kid was a pacifistic pro. They spared every monster that crossed their path, and you rooted for them the entire way. Even when they fought Asgore, you weren’t far, standing right outside the room as they begged him to stop fighting. And as their anguished cries grew in volume and intensity, you hunched over, pulling your hood over your head so no one could see the expression on your skull, pressing a fist against your ribcage as you tried to keep your soul from breaking in two. Then the fighting suddenly stops, and a deranged bout of helium high laughter fills the room, but before you can think too hard about it, time jumps backwards, and the kid is walking out of the throne room, looking a thousand years older than they’d gone in.

 _ **“i'm sorry.”**_ You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, but they look up at you, their eyes slightly emptier than you remembered, which strikes a nerve, if only because they’d worked so hard, they’d earned the right to feel like a kid again, not a reformed criminal or a soldier in a child’s body. 

They killed your brother, once upon a time. They killed everyone. And they hate themselves for it more than you ever could. And if they’re strong enough to face that, strong enough to move past it, and extend a hand of kindness, then they deserve some kindness in return.

So when they head over to Undyne’s place and some of their spark returns as the sheer exuberance of the comedy duo that is your brother and Undyne chases away a few of the dark clouds settling into their brow, you follow along, quietly grateful towards the two goofballs. 

And though still confused, the kid agreed to deliver Undyne’s letter, which means it’s time for you to find the nearest shortcut to Hotland. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Alphys – she rarely leaves her workplace these days, usually only coming out to find spare parts in the junkyard or buy a case of instant noodles - but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware of what she’s done behind the closed doors of the old lab. 

Faking the imbuement of a robot with a monster’s SOUL was enough to fool the king, and you let it pass, because it was harmless. And if the timing of the presentation and the disappearance of Napstablook’s cousin roughly coincided, well, that wasn’t any of your business, was it? But with the backing of the Royal Scientist behind her, she’s done much more than that. Had she had someone helping her, someone with the knowledge of how potentially dangerous and unstable Determination could be, maybe the end result wouldn’t have been something she'd feel she’d have to lie about, something that would make her want to hide, to disappear.

But by turning those monsters into amalgamations, she’d undeniably saved their lives. Had it been you at the reins, could you have done the same?

With your thoughts all muddled, you know a meeting between you would be messy, so you stay out of sight, watching from a distance as Alphys somehow mistakes Undyne’s passionate letter for something a young child with a crush would write. The kid scratches their head in confusion as they’re swept along on a date, and you chuckle, low enough so only you can hear. 

After something of a false start, Alphys meets them in the junkyard where she feels most at home. She’s wearing a black dress with white polka dots, and even though she’s only been outside of the lab for a short time, she already looks healthier, more confident, like she’s been suffocating alone, and now she can finally breathe.

And if the human can make good use on a second chance, then maybe she can, too. And maybe there’s enough going around for you.

The kid looks sad when Alphys voices her self-doubts, and urges her to tell Undyne the truth. “She will listen. Won’t make things better. Won’t make bad things go away. But…” Wringing their sweater nervously in their small fists as brown eyes peek shyly through a dense curtain of bangs, they finish the thought with, “it’s nice... not knowing things alone.”

When Undyne arrives on the scene, you’re not worried, though both the kid and Alphys sweat it out a bit. 

From there, it’s off to your old workplace, which looks just as dreary and decrepit as you remember it. You watch as the kid begins to study the reports etched into the walls, and step forth from the shadows to cover their eyes. _**“move along, kid,"**_ you say quietly. _**"you don’t need to see this.”**_

And you’re not sure what it is you’re trying to do when there’s no innocence left to save, but they nod, intertwining their fingers between your own, and when you release them, they keep their eyes off the walls.

 

The next part gets a little fuzzy, but your nightmares fill the empty spaces with an overwhelming sense of lingering despair that shifts the world into fleeting shades of awful gray. You jolt awake in your bedroom on the surface, the feeling of losing yourself still burning gold even as it fades like the dying embers of a crushed cigarette.

It’s been a whole week since Frisk led the monsters to the surface. You made sure to congratulate them in private, but it hadn’t gone the way you’d expected. They hugged themselves, looking far away and miserable. “Wasn’t me.” 

_**“if not you, then-”** _

“Asriel.” They look straight into your sockets, beseeching. “He doesn’t want his parents to know. Because he can’t come back.” They’re waiting for you to speak, but you’re thinking of Determination experiments done on golden flowers taken from the king’s throne room, the very room where the prince died. You’re thinking of your journals, of the vague warnings written about a deceptive talking flower, and it all makes sense. Alphys, in her arrogance and inexperience, had attempted to create an artificial SOUL, yet all she'd accomplished was the damning of a little boy to a soulless existence.

It takes the kid tugging insistently on your sleeve for you to snap out of the dangerous path your thoughts are taking. “Please don’t tell.”

After a short pause, you told them that you won’t. Not like it was your place to, anyways. What's done is done. But now your best friend’s dead son has usurped the starring role in your nightmares, and you’re not sure where to go from there.

You open empty eye sockets in a lightless room, expecting cold, expecting snow, only to feel the warmth of a shuddering body pressed against your side. You peek under the sheets to see the kid breathing in harsh gasps, their cheeks wet to the touch.

It occurs to you that this is your first time seeing them cry. It's a first you were more than willing to skip.

Lying back heavily against the pillow, you let your head fall, then stretch to wrap an arm around them. Gradually, they relax, and you're lulled back to sleep by the steady rise and fall of their back.

When morning comes, you wake to find the space beside you is cold, empty, and the bed is all wrong. It’s lumpy, its sheets crumpled into a wrinkled lump, and familiar in a way that coats your soul in a thick layer of dread. There’s no dip in the mattress, no warmth, no sign that the human ever existed.

Outside, it’s snowing in Snowdin town.


End file.
